I found out only tonight that PRS recently announced the SE NF 53, which is their lower-priced, foreign-made version of their high-end NF 53. The NF 53 (which I’ve written about before) is their take on a 50s Telecaster, which is one of Fender’s most beloved instruments.

I have owned multiple Telecasters in my time, across varying price ranges. Right now, I have one in my collection — their cheapest “Made in Mexico” variant. It’s the best Telecaster I’ve ever played. (I just spent some time playing it today and had a blast.)

A Telecaster doesn’t need to be expensive to be great. That’s what makes it such a beloved instrument. So I’m excited about this much more affordable version of the NF53.

Years ago, after PRS unveiled the Silver Sky (John Mayer’s signature guitar and their take on a Strat-style instrument), I emailed PRS and asked when we could expect their take on a Tele. Needless to say, I’ve been looking forward to both the NF 53 and the SE version for some time. (PRS told me they don’t comment on future products, but that was enough to suggest to me that their take on a Tele might be a “future product,” so it felt like a sure thing it was coming.)

First, PRS’s video demo of this instrument is excellent. Bryan Ewald is an incredible player, and I am certain he gets better every year. He makes everything sound great, and this is no exception.

Second, I love that the SE version of this instrument has the same bridge as the American-made version. That’s a great sign. Every Tele player will tell you the bridge is what makes or breaks a Telecaster. And the bridge on the NF 53 line, along with its saddles, is a genuinely innovative design and a testament to American guitar manufacturing. It solves a lot of intonation problems common to this style of guitar, so the guitar is more likely to be in tune all the way along the neck. That helps a lot with recording.

Thirdly, I am not sure I like the pickups. The NF 53 comes with noiseless “Deep Dish” pickups that look to my eyes like an unconventional size, but I really like normal Telecaster pickups, even with their vintage single coil sound. I think that’s a huge part of their charm and a massive part of their tone, which can go from round-bottomed and thick to bright, thin, and twangy with the twist of one knob. I did some googling, and I’m unsure if one could easily replace the Deep Dish pickups with something more conventional. Just something to keep an eye on, if you’re into that kind of things.

Finally, the price. First, I thought it was outrageous. $1400 CAD seemed really high to me when I checked my local retailer. But it turns out that’s only a few bucks more than Fender’s new Player II Telecaster (their Made in Mexico line). That’s just about $600 more than I paid for my Player Telecaster only a year ago. I don’t know if this is Fender bumping up their prices, or just what things cost now thanks to American tariffs. Either way, $1400 isn’t chicken scratch, but it’s in line with the competition, so fair is fair. (And unlike every Fender I’ve ever owned, I’ve never had a PRS with a wonky neck or wony frets.)

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Despite the fact that the beats and the story here are played pretty straight, and therefore become predictable, this formula really works. Some neat visual ideas as well (the sequence at the movie theatre was a particular standout for me).

I was shocked at the humanity they managed to find in what should be a pretty rote disaster movie. I should not have been shocked, because director Lee Isaac Chung’s Minari was one of the most affecting films I’ve seen in recent years. But at this point, my trust in Hollywood to tell human stories has been completely eroded. The studios have replaced the humanity in our summer blockbusters with quips and snark, and I am no longer amused by any of it. So Twisters was a genuine surprise. I wasn’t moved, but I found it shockingly tasteful.

In short, you can tell that Chung and his crew actually cared. In today’s world, that empathy for the story (and the audience) feels increasingly rare.

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I’m sort of stunned by how divided folks are on this. I’ve seen takes that range from Wicked being a modern masterpiece to it being an attack on democracy. Those are both pretty crazy takes. This is your typical high-polish, low-effort Hollywood event, and I don’t understand the passion of either side. 

My wife and I saw Wicked the musical when it was in Toronto, something like a million years ago. We didn’t like it much then. It’s big on dazzle and low on brain cells. Completely soulless, but yet a mildly entertaining diversion.

That’s pretty much the movie too. But dazzle is Hollywood’s specialty, and low brain cell amusement is what the studios do best. (And it’s hard to blame Hollywood for this soulless CGI soup when this story has always been soulless and lacking in humanity, even when it pretends to have so much heart.) So it’s hard to be mad about this, and in my opinion, the dazzle works better on screen than it does on stage. 

Perfectly slight Friday night entertainment.

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Many people I follow online have already suggested standards are slipping across organizations who rely on AI. I don’t know anything about that; I work for myself and I have impeccable standards. (If anything, my standards are increasing over time, which is as it should be, probably.)

That being said, to use artificial intelligence in your work is to lower your standards by at least a little bit. It’s a way of saying, “yes, the plagiarism machine that is essentially a word-by-word prediction algorithm can do this part of my work, and there is no intrinsic value in me doing it.” (Artificial intelligence is naturally good at summarizing long text and making it shorter, because that is quite literally what it is designed to be good at. So it’s not a terrible way to start research, or get help shortening your lengthy email to the C‑suite, who are all probably summarizing your email with AI anyway. But when it comes to actually doing original work and thinking, artificial intelligence tends to be much less predictable and nowhere near the same level of quality. It is, after all, making it up as it goes.)

But I was reading Clear Thinking by Shane Parrish, and he says something very interesting on page 79:

Most of the time when we accept substandard work from ourselves, it’s because we don’t really care about it. We tell ourselves it’s good enough, or the best we can manage given our time constraints. But the truth is, at least in this particular thing, we’re not committed to excellence.

When we accept substandard work from others, it’s for the same reason: we’re not all in. When you’re committed to excellence, you don’t let anyone on your team half-ass it. You set the bar, you set it high, and you expect anyone working with you to work just as hard and level up to what you expect or above. Anything less is unacceptable.

I think this is the discomfort that many of us feel with artificial intelligence. If we take shortcuts like this, we say that the process has no value. But for a lot of us, the process is the work. The process is where value is generated, and the process is what we’ve mastered. It’s what we’re committed to.

So asking artificial intelligence to write the blog post, design the logo, or program a website feels about as alien to a creative as hiring out somebody else to build the deck would to a carpenter. It suggests that the bar is set low, and that perhaps we are no longer capable of reaching it on our own. (If I were hiring a carpenter and I found out they outsourced their deck, I am not sure I would hire them.)

Shane continues on the bottom of page 79 through to 80:

Masters of their craft don’t merely want to check off a box and move on. They’re dedicated to what they do, and they keep at it. Master-level work requires near fanatical standards, so masters show us what our standards should be. A master communicator wouldn’t accept a ponderous, rambling email. A master programmer wouldn’t accept ugly code. Neither of them would accept unclear explanations as understanding.

We’ll never be exceptional at anything unless we raise our standards, both of ourselves and of what’s possible. For most of us, that sounds like a lot of work. We gravitate toward being soft and complacent. We’d rather coast. That’s fine. Just realize this: if you do what everyone else does, you can expect the same results that everyone else gets. If you want different results, you need to raise the bar.

“Neither of them would accept unclear explanations as understanding” sums up the entire situation: each time we use AI, we are essentially saying we are fine with somebody else doing this work inside a black box. The tools reveal our priorities. If we rely on AI, we don’t become masters. At some point, the reliance on the tool masters us.

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Consider a client using your average CMS to insert your standard unordered list. Maybe it looks like this:

<p>Here is a list of books we'd recommend on the topic:</p>

<ul>
    <li><em>Book One</em></li>
    <li><em>Book Two</em> (our go-to on the topic)</li>
    <li>And finally, <em>Book Three</em></li>
</ul>

Very simple HTML and CSS.

But let’s say the client wants to change the list design. In today’s example, they want to replace each bullet with a checkmark icon, and they want the checkmark to sit on a yellow circle. Ideally, these elements are accessible and scale with the type. So, you write this code:

ul.checklist {
	list-style: none;
	padding-left: 0;
	margin:0;
}

ul.checklist li {
	// Add white space
	margin: 1em 0 0;
	// Create a grid layout for your new icons
	display: grid;
	grid-template-columns: 1.5em auto;
	gap: .5em;
	max-width: 100%;
	// Not necessary, but habitual
	position: relative;
}

ul.checklist li::before, ul.checklist li::after {
	// Correctly size the icon and background
	grid-column:1;
	grid-row:1;
	height:1.5em;
	width:1.5em;
	content:'';
}

ul.checklist li::before {
	// Background yellow
	background: var(--color-yellow-100);
	border-radius: 50%;
}

ul.checklist li::after {
	// Add the icon
	// The mask changes the fill of the SVG
	background-color: var(--color-black-100);
	mask: url('/assets/icons/checkmark.svg') no-repeat center;
	mask-size: contain;
}

Before reading or scrolling any further, see if you can guess the problem that will arise from this layout. (If you guess it correctly, you are smarter than me, because I always forget this is going to happen.)

Ready? OK, here’s a screenshot of where this breaks down in real-world use on a non-profit’s website:

Basically, as far as the browser is concerned, each element in this <li> lines up with another column in the grid. So if the text in the <li> says Visit <a href="https://acme.co">our website</a> to learn more, that’s actually three elements (two text elements, one link element), and thus we have multiple column breaks.

The fix is easy:

li {
	display:contents;
}

I somehow missed the early writing about display:contents;, but there is very little written about this CSS feature anywhere, and it’s a handy one to know.

display:contents; is meant for use within flexbox or grid systems where child HTML elements like this break the flow of content. It’s support is decent (barring some tag-specific incompatibility). Its one downfall is that it breaks screen reader support; my understanding is that formatting is not read via screen readers when display:contents; is in use. (I am not positive this is accurate, but the situation used to be worse, and overall it seems fine today.)

To account for edge cases and be as specific as possible within a variety of CMSs, my new boilerplate for this (within a grid system) looks like this:

// Do not apply display:contents to paragraph tags inside li
ul.checklist li p {
	grid-column:2;
}

/**
 * For text inside an li that is not inside a p tag,
 * I want to support specific text formatting without breaking the grid.
 * This includes italics, bold, links, and code.
 * It does not include headings or anything else that might 
 * break the intended purpose of the design.
**/
ul.checklist li > a, ul.checklist li > strong, ul.checklist li > b, ul,.checklist li > i, ul.checklist li > em, ul.checklist li > code {
	display:contents
}

And just like that, you have child elements in a grid container with inline formatting that doesn’t break the flow of their parent.

Here’s how that checkbox looks with the above code applied:

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It doesn’t live up to the heights of the first two instalments (particularly the second), but I didn’t expect it to. It’s still a great time, even if it trades in the British setting (where Paddington truly belongs) for a misguided adventure film. Thankfully, many of the other series’ charms (its particular visual style and editing nuance in particular) is retained.

I chortled, guffawed, and haha’d many times throughout.

I dearly missed Sally Hawkins, who really brought the previous films together. Out of the new cast members, Olivia Colman in particular is an absolute delight.

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If reproduced as-is, footnotes on the web are even worse than their printed counterparts. In print, the footnotes are usually at the bottom of the current page, so they’re a quick glance away, and you can use a finger to mark your place in the main text while you’re off on your side-quest. Whereas on this beautiful pageless web of ours, you have to scroll all the way down to the end of the article. You can try flinging right to the bottom of the document, but if there’s a sizeable footer or comments section, you’ll overshoot the footnotes. And of course, after all of this, you have to scroll back to where you were, which is easier said than done.

Jake suggests myriad ways to deal with this problem, most of which I’d already implemented, but none of them solve the root problems:

1. Footnotes are less accessible, because they’re often set smaller than body text.
2. On the printed page, footnotes can exist in the footer of any page. This makes them unobtrusive to read, since the size of a page is restricted by the physical limitations of books. Your eyes don’t have to travel far. On the web, no such luck: a webpage can be a mile long, so placing footers at the end of the document can turn footnotes into a very un-fun game.

The bigger problem in my mind is #2, and I’ve been contemplating solutions to this for some time.

On the web, I’ve often thought the best solution is using something similar to <aside> or <section role="notes"> in the way Jake describes. Ideally, each “footnote” would directly follow the paragraph it pertains to.

On desktop, these footnotes could be displayed in the margins of the page. (It’s called marginalia for a reason.) The smaller type can stay, mostly as a way to semantically highlight the insignificance of the footnote itself, which almost certainly exists for the author’s sake and not the reader’s. This works really well in Klim Type Co’s essays and case studies. (Unfortunately, Klim’s solution doesn’t scale down to mobile.)

I dislike the popup solution, which presents the user which a choice and annoys me personally as a reader. Popups are also annoying to build.

The problem with using <aside> or <section role=“notes”> is that these solutions are not part of any agreed-upon footnote spec. It’s scope creep if you’re building in most CMSs today, including (and probably especially) WordPress. They also don’t render as footnotes in RSS feeds, so your content will be presented differently there than it would be on a website. (One could replace marginalia with normal footnotes for RSS feeds, but again, scope creep.)

For now, one way around it is to use JavaScript to fetch the footnotes and display them inline as marginalia beside the text. I’ve never built this out, but I can imagine a few potential accessibility problems (in addition to the accessibility issues already present for footnotes).

The best solution, outside of abandoning footnotes altogether, is an HTML spec for footnotes that removes the need for each developer to suggest their own implementation. Whatever the spec is, it could incorporate a best-practices approach that allows for CSS styling to transform footnotes into marginalia, something similar to an <aside>, or even a popup. It would also, theoretically, solve accessibility problems that developers create with their own implementations.

For now, a better approach is probably to replace each footnote with a <section role=“note”>, which is an idea I hadn’t considered, but quite like. Thanks Jake!

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According to reporting from The Verge, Monotype (a company I do not like) is really pushing the idea that AI is “coming for our fonts.” Which is a gross way to say that AI is coming for type designers, which is a gross thing to publicly get excited about.

Apart from the fact that we continue to discuss AI taking our jobs and our humanity from us (as though it’s desirable), the other problem here is that this future isn’t real. At least, not now:

AI, the report suggests, will make type accessible through “intelligent agents and chatbots” and let anyone generate typography regardless of training or design proficiency. How that will be deployed isn’t certain, possibly as part of proprietarily trained apps. Indeed, how any of this will work remains nebulous.

Why Monotype would want to push any of this is beyond me. The Verge mostly attempts to draw similarities between today’s AI proclamations and the effects of industrialization on typography in the early 20th century. The metaphor is completely broken, because unlike these AI proclamations, the effects of industrialization were actually real.

And then, the money quote. This is in reference to Zeynep Akay, director at typeface design studio Dalton Maag:

“It’s almost as if we are being gaslighted into believing our lives, or our professions, or our creative skills are ephemeral.”

It is exactly this! In a rush to get investor dollars, every company in the world is trying to tell professionals in every space (but particularly in white collar information work) that their jobs, livelihoods, and skill sets are irrelevant in the coming tide.

The current chatbots are useful tools, but any company claiming they’re “replacing” workers with AI is attempting to paint a narrative about layoffs with a different colour. The tool just isn’t there. It’s especially not there for any work that requires creative thought, and because the entire AI chain is more or less word prediction based on prior knowledge, there isn’t much chance AI in its current incarnation could design anything actually new.

To put it bluntly, I don’t think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that AI is designing typefaces for us any time soon.

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The last couple bits I need to knock down to not need SCSS at all are:

• The equivalent of the nice @use directive. I think I might actually be able to use Lightning CSS directly along with its interpretation of native @import for bundling and minification.
• Applying the same approach to the syntax highlighting theme shown above for the syntax highlighting theme, for which I also currently use a @mixin the same way.

This got me thinking about what I use SCSS for these days. SCSS has been a constant part of my toolchain for twelve or thirteen years now; I feel like it’s been a part of my workflow forever. But it frustrates far more than it delights today, at least for me. The announcement of CSS Nesting in December gives me hope that a major reason to use SCSS is becoming part of the standard spec in the future.

Beyond that, here are the last couple things I need to not need SCSS anymore:

1. Like Chris, I need a good @use or @import directive. Today, this is SCSS’s best feature. I hadn’t heard of Lightning CSS before, but now I am going to check it out (although I am wary of replacing a well-known tool with a less well-known tool).
2. I think browser targets are helpful as a compilation feature, and I am unsure of a way to make that part of the default CSS spec.
3. I love using SCSS variables for media queries. @media (min-width:$bp-m) is far easier to use, in my experience, than @media (min-width:700px) or @media (min-width:45em). I understand why we can’t use environment variables, but it really is a shame I just can’t write @media (min-width:var(--bp-m)) and call it a day. I don’t know if I’ll ever get this as part of CSS spec. I’m also aware that best practice is probably to abandon variables in media queries and rely on something more conventional, but old habits…

I think the @use directive is the most important for my needs, and at a certain point, I’d be happy to give up futzing with the developer toolchain around SCSS compilation. Nothing has thrilled me more over my career than watching CSS improve and gain features over the past fifteen years. We’ve gone from floats to grids to crazy math formulas inside variables, and as a result, our layouts have been more less rigid and far easier to work with.

It’s still a great time to be a web designer.

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It probably doesn’t matter. The path forward is the same: every day, we must create, over and over, and find joy in this process.

It takes a lot of hours to become a good designer, writer, photographer, or filmmaker. Malcolm Gladwell may have been wrong about 10,000 hours being the “tipping point” for mastery, but what’s been lost in all the talk of revisionism in the past fifteen years is the fact that 10,000 hours is a helpful barometer. It’s sixty straight weeks of uninterrupted focus. It’s 250 work weeks, or five years, if one worked roughly forty hours of week with absolutely no interruptions. If you’re lucky, and spend four hours a day focused on your craft, it’s ten years to achieve mastery in any given domain. That’s no small chunk of time.

So people who make things, people who want to master their craft, can’t afford to become distracted. We can’t be intimidated by the blank page. To create something new requires confidence that the blank page is just the beginning. The blank page is an invitation, not a wall. It’s a place of triumph, not discomfort.

The blank page, the empty audio file in a DAW, or the painter’s palettes are places where rules don’t exist, where the physics of time and space can be manipulated. They are an open challenge to invent, to create.

Along the way, don’t forget what you learned as a child in math class: the blank page is a place for doodling. Even Leonardo da Vinci drew dicks in his notebooks.

The work is serious, but it must be approached with lightness. Otherwise, the results suffer.

We must find a way to do this, then repeat, over and over, until the great work of our lives is done.

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It’s shocking that any of the emotional beats land, because this is a bloated bore of a film in every other way. Coogler is a talented director, but he bit off way more than he could chew. The underwater sequences are unflattering next to James Cameron’s work in Way of Water, and the political back and forth and the resulting violence all feel forced and unwarranted. The escalation towards endless violence all feels like bickering between two lesser countries. 

This was also another one of those poorly lit, visually ugly movies. I know cameras these days can do it, but it looks bad! If only our current directors studied light. 

Halfway through, I wished I was watching a Star Wars prequel — even Attack of the Clones! — or The Way of Water instead.

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Honestly kinda fun, but it’s odd to me how this franchise is increasingly becoming Spy Kids for people who think they’re too cool and edgy for Spy Kids. Just a lot of nonsense tech and silly bad guys who introduce themselves as the bad guys. 

Often hilarious, though. 

I will admit I fell asleep for the final climax, but I was on a long flight and running on just a few hours sleep. Hard to say if it was the movie’s fault.

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I genuinely laughed until I cried. Perfectly cast. It’s not particularly quotable, but everybody’s delivery is pitch perfect. Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughan could not have been more perfect for these roles. 

If I had seen this as a teenager when it came out, if would have struck me as lame. But as an adult who has survived many wedding seasons, and had my “wild oats” phase in university, I recognized almost every one of the character stereotypes in this as people I know. This movie felt kind of tailor made for my life stage at the moment.

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Awful. The exact sort of terrible, artless filmmaking that previously brought us movies like Valentine’s Day, but applied to the John Wick formula with zero consistency, vision, or novelty. Even the action scenes are rote, to a point where one character comments on it during the climax as a joke. 

Hollywood as a factory, relentlessly creating “content.”

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Without thinking, I accepted her hand and shook it. She asked for a photo. We took a selfie.

The clown spoke to me in French. I do understand the language at this level, but from the way she gestured to the small wallet bulge in my jeans pocket, I knew what she was asking. For what rendered service, I asked. I noticed my wife, much smarter than I am, was long gone, practically halfway to the Petit France district four blocks away.

The woman gathered that I do not speak much French, and found other ways to demonstrate what she wanted. She rubbed her stomach, and said “baby, feed baby,” over and over again, while pointing at my wallet. I doubted she was pregnant; she looked old enough to be my mother, and while my mother is not old, her becoming pregnant now would be cause for a new addition to the Old Testament. But who would dare speak poorly about miracles outside the great Strasbourg Cathedral?

I felt embarrassed for having fallen into this obvious tourist trap. My first reaction was anger for being played a fool, but nobody should be faulted for wanting a selfie with a Fellini-inspired clown. The trap was not worth my anger. I was the victim of only a minor fraud. It was better to pay the fine, remember the lesson, and keep some level of my dignity.

The Mickey Mouse impersonator I saw only moments later was likely even less trustworthy.

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So OpenAI and Apple’s legendary design lead are embarking on a journey to build some new AI-enabled hardware. They’re coy about what it will be—probably not a phone, definitely not a watch, maybe not “something you wear”—but my gut feeling is that it’ll be something we’ve actually seen before. My true prediction is that it’ll be more like the Humane Ai Pin or that AI Pendant but they’re embarrassed to be associated with those products, so they’re going to wait a little longer to let the stink clear.

I’m skeptical about OpenAI in general, because while I think AI is so powerful that aspects of it will legitimately change the world, I also think it has been overhyped more than just about anything I’ve seen in my three decades of writing about technology. Sam Altman strikes me as being a drinker of his own Kool-Aid, but it’s also his job to make everyone in the world think that AI is inevitable and amazing and that his company is the unassailable leader while it’s bleeding cash.

I think it’s important to clarify that OpenAI isn’t bleeding cash; they’re haemorrhaging it. This is all further reinforced by the fact that OpenAI is purchasing Ive’s company for an astronomical $6.5 billion, and all that money is in privately owned stock funded by equity firms, banks, and desperate venture capital companies.

With all that in mind, I find myself wondering what Ive and Altman’s new product could possibly be. Jony Ive insists that good design “elevates humanity,” but because of the current direction of AI in our society, I don’t see how it’s possible any AI-based product could.

I am not anti-AI. I use it frequently, particularly for summarizing in-depth Google research (my most recent example: “what e‑sims should I consider for traveling around France and the Netherlands, and which options have the widest coverage?”). I also use it for rubber ducking, in which I copy and paste error messages from my code into the chatbot and get it to suggest potential solutions. (It never gets it right, but it at least gets me thinking.)

So I am not some sort of anti-AI Luddite or prude. I think AI chat bots have enormous potential for research, data analysis, and even as code assistants. However, it’s not clearly net positive for the world.

On one hand, I see many smart people I know fawning over this technology product that is often merely a very advanced version of Siri. I also see Jony Ive and Sam Altman making googly eyes at each other in a very awkward announcement video. Even Jony Ive, a man who makes product design sound like Aristotelian philosophy, is fawning over Sam Altman.

It’s also become clear that many unhinged CEOs are sending outrageous emails about their expectations for AI. In summary: “AI is coming for your job, so get ten times better at it quickly.” Mostly, it sounds like they expect their employees to do ten times the work for the same pay as before, as a baseline for keeping their job. AI is already being used to exploit the workforce.

For the first time in our collective history, knowledge workers face an extinction-level event, not dissimilar to what happened to blue-collar workers in the face of factory automation and machining. And Sam Altman and Jony Ive think that the best path forward is to continue developing a product they claim will be “for everybody,” when all current signs point to AI mostly being a tool for incredibly wealthy CEOs to extract more value and productivity from an increasingly smaller workforce of disenfranchised employees.

How can an AI product “elevate humanity” when it’s often used now to oppress and exploit the working class? Jony Ive is a very smart man, but his most recent work includes $3,000 jackets and personal branding for the king of England. Ive has a long history of designing luxury products for wealthy people. It is hard to imagine yet another tech product solving (or even avoiding) the problem its base technology has already created.

Unlike certain technocrats, I am unconcerned about a Terminator-like future. I am far more concerned with a future where technology has created an even larger disparity between the rich and the poor. Unless we can all figure out Universal Basic Income, (and conservative governments the world over are uninterested in that notion), I fear that we are creating a society that values the contributions of workers less than ever before, while the cost of living continues to become more unaffordable.

Sam Altman and Jony Ive spend a lot of time in their self-congratulatory video discussing San Francisco. This is what Sam had to say:

“San Francisco has been, like, a mythical place in American history, and maybe in world history in some sense. It is the city I most associate with the leading edge of culture and technology. … The fact that all of those things happen in the Bay Area and not anywhere else on this gigantic planet we live on, I think, is not an accident.”

This is true (even if it ignores much of the rest of the Valley and San Jose in particular), but it’s worth noting that this is all happening in the United States. Right now, the US is a country where “move fast and break things” is quite literally the political policy of the White House. America leads in technology for many reasons, but the Valley’s attitude of “move fast and break things” has become a global problem.

Forgive me, then, for being skeptical that ChatGPT and its competitors will change the world in a net positive way. Forgive me for having a hard time imagining Jony Ive ever again designing anything as revolutionary as the iPhone (which, for all its flaws, globally democratized technology, changed society and global commerce, and has created a ripple effect that will last decades). Forgive me for assuming that all this hype around this partnership is a lot of smoke and mirrors to make OpenAI’s investors feel like there’s still a fish on the line, rather than a hole in the boat.

I am an optimist about humanity, but I am unsure technology is always for humanity’s betterment. I do not see how, to use Sir Jony Ive’s words, AI “elevates humanity.” Right now, it looks to me like the only person who’s been elevated in all this is Sam Altman.

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Part of what makes this work is its sincerity. If Woody Allen made this even ten years earlier, he might have starred, which would have been a worse movie: every quip he makes in his films somehow sounds cynical (and sometimes cruel). 

On the other hand, Owen Wilson’s wide-eyed, “oh shucks” performance is affable and earnest. He doesn’t act like Woody; through his eyes, we see Paris as charming and nostalgic, not unlike him. He puts heart into it, and completely sells the illusion.

Perpetual golden lighting only helps romanticize the illusion, and it makes Wilson’s performance appear even more sincere. In our current era of cynical filmmaking and superhero cash-ins, this goofy little romance remains a breath of fresh air.

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Had to find a copy of the theatrical cut in 4K and watch this again with some friends. An incredible, enthralling experience, absolutely unlike anything else out there. Stunned silence from our friends when it was over, who were just completely unable to process everything we all witnessed for a few minutes. 

It reminded me a lot of classic mythology, in the sense that it’s telling an Odyssey-like story made up of small vignettes. When the climax arrives, it stands in stark contrast to what came before, and the established rules of the previous narratives no longer apply. The edge of the map has been found, and here be monsters. An incredibly smart structure for this sort of story.

I’ve never seen Redux or The Final Cut. I wouldn’t mind trying them out next time, although I worry they might slow down the pacing.

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I feel like I watched a totally different movie, compared to everybody else. Perhaps it’s because I’m a big fan of the original. Its atmospheric and has an incredible vibe, and it’s aged particularly well. Its sense of dread is still palpable, despite being over 100 years old.

On the surface, that seems like it would be right up Eggers’ alley. To his credit, he nailed the vibe: the dark, gothic presentation is excellent (although perhaps a little too inspired by Coppola’s Dracula for my liking). The visuals are generally good.

But the changes Eggers has made to the original film will, in my opinion, age poorly.

First, the film slows to a crawl in the last forty minutes as Nosferatu (spoilers) kills people (mostly offscreen), and the characters react. The debate about whether or not Nosferatu is a demon takes far too long; we the audience know he is a demonic force, and because it’s too late and people are dying left and right, debating it does not increase tension. It’s just exasperating tedium. It’s forty minutes of watching people make stupid decisions in a horror movie, but without any decisions, and instead just wiffle waffling. The original Nosferatu benefitted from its lack of dialogue and the relative lack of dialogue screens. I felt myself tuning out visually for thirty minutes and treating the boring later half of this film like a podcast.

Secondly, while I was really into the vibe of the first half of the time, the second half slowly (as you might have gathered) descends closer and closer to misery porn. I am tired of modern horror mostly being scenes of people yelling or crying at one another about their misery. It’s not frightening. It either triggers your own past trauma of grief or misery, or it offends you with its boredom. (It doesn’t help that half of the cast here thinks they’re in a self-important period piece, and the other half think they’re in a B monster movie, so even the misery porn is tonally all over the place.)

I strongly believe all these horror films with misery porn elements are going to be regarded poorly for it in twenty years.

Thirdly and finally, I (like many others) am not into the design of Nosferatu. I love good monster design, but part of the charm of Nosferatu in the original is that he has a certain beguiling appeal. A major part of the horror is that we can understand what might attract people to him. This rendition loses all of that appeal in the desire to make Nosferatu look like he’s truly undead — a noble goal, but not the correct path to take for this film.

Artfully done (if not too self indulgent), and visually as spectacular as a desaturated take on gothic Germany can be, but it’s sadly a swing and a miss for me.

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